extraordinary how commonplace war becomes to a man who is thrust
among others who consider it commonplace. Not fifty yards away from me a
dead German lies rotting and uncovered--I daresay he was buried once and
then blown out by a shell.

Wednesday, 7 p.m.

Your letters came two hours ago--the first to reach me here--and I have
done little else but read and re-read them. How they bring the old ways
of life back with their love and longing! Dear mother's tie will be worn
to-morrow, and it will be ripping to feel that it was made by her hands.
Your cross has not arrived yet, dear. Your mittens will be jolly for the
winter. I've heard nothing from the boys yet.

To-day I took a trip into No-Man's Land--when the war is ended I'll be
able to tell you all about it. I think the picture is photographed upon
my memory forever. There's so much you would like to hear and so little
I'm allowed to tell. Ask G.M.'C. if he was at Princeton with a man named
Price--an instructor there.

You ought to see the excitement when the water-cart brings us our mail
and the letters are handed out. Some of the gunners have evidently told
their Canadian girls that they are officers, and so they are addressed
on their letters as lieutenants. I have to censor some of their replies,
and I can tell you they are as often funny as pathetic. The ones to
their mothers are childish, too, and have rows of kisses. I think men
are always kiddies if you look beneath the surface. The snapshots did
fill me with a wanting to be with you in Kootenay. But that's not where
you'll receive this. There'll probably be a fire in the sitting-room at
home, and a strong aroma of coffee and tobacco. You'll be sitting in a
low chair before the fire and your fingers rubbing the hair above your
left ear as you read this aloud. I'd like to walk in on you and say, "No
more need for letters now." Some day soon, I pray and expect.

Tell dear Papa and Mother that their answers come next. What a lot of
love you each one manage to put into your written pages! I'm afraid if I
let myself go that way I might make you unhappy.

Since writing this far I have had supper. I'm now sleeping in a new
dug-out and get a shower of mould on my sleeping-kit each time the guns
are fired. One doesn't mind that particularly, especially when you know
that the earth walls make you safe. I have a candle in an old petrol tin
and dodge the shadows as I write. You know, this artillery game is good
spor